dear world,

winter solstice. thirtieth birthday. christmas. new moon. new year.

there are drawbacks to being born so close to christmas, but one of the big benefits is celebrating during such a transformational time of year. the dark begins to turn to light. the spirit of giving is in full swing. the lunar cycle resets. and the resolutions for the new year emerge.

it’s 5:30am, and the sound of rain drizzling down upon our tin patio roof lures me from the warmth of my bed into the cold, damp, mosquito-infested air. wrapped in a blanket, i sit here watching the sky turn to flames. a small little spark, and the darkness evaporates.

suddenly it is the day i was born.

the rest of the country is already awake. my phone is dancing to its own beat of vibrations and lighting up the morning. an endless outpouring of love all before breakfast. i sit in the aftermath of sunrise and count my blessings.

each and every family member, friend, acquaintance, and even stranger. thank you.

thank you for taking a moment of your day and giving it to me. i will relish every ounce of it. for this is a time of change.

in the coming weeks, we will vow to eat healthier or travel some place new or stop swearing so much. our list of resolutions will empower us to march into the new year with courage and hope.

i am courageous. i am hopeful. but i am weary of the darkness. i have always been weary of the darkness. i am a northern child born just as the earth begins her journey towards spring. i am a child meant to light up the dark.

so what do i want for my birthday?

i want you to be a light.

paz y besos,
sara

what happens when an artist loses her artistry? when the pen falls from her hand, when the rhythm fades from her step, when the shutter stops beneath her finger. she is left surrounded by those that are still creating and yet she creates no more. every ounce of inspiration sits in waiting amidst the musings of someone else.

her words are not her words. her moves are not her moves. her images are not her images. there is a desire to find them again, yet something encases the urge. trapping each idea below the surface. with no awen there to pull them through the glass, she stares at the reflection until they disappear untouched.

she fights the cravings by occupying time with distractions, but like any addiction, the need returns. as she watches others craft and indulge, she cannot help but envy the outcomes. chaos captured into something beyond rational comprehension. how can she transcend the disconnect? when does she become them?

day by day, the energy subdivides and focus falls into multitasking passions. we want it all, so we try to take it all. but, her container cannot hold it all. she overflows spilling out necessary pieces of her intuition. you cannot put toothpaste back into the tube, but she will try. she will continuously try. every lost edge reformed to fit back into her current puzzle.

she falls in and out of love with the notion of creativity, trying to comprehend how this seemingly insignificant portion of her being occupies so many hours of her thought. mental exhaustion battling the misunderstood efforts to define her influence.

she deafens herself with their songs, their words, their rhythms, their rhymes, until she can no longer hear her yearnings. misguiding each intention to disillusion. the tired moth dissolves to dust in the flame.

then something shifts.

a hidden glint of what could be appears from the ashes, and she can’t help but hold onto it for dear life. a simple reminder that creation is eternal. that an empty space can always be filled with something more. that action stimulates art.

and then, she creates.

i have never been an ocean girl. i grew up heading north for summer getaways. to an oasis that i always considered better than any pacific or atlantic coastline. i waterskied and wakeboarded. i swung from rope swings into icy waves rolling onto forested beaches. i had never seen point break, and the words kelly and slater were just characters from saved by the bell.

sure i’ve always idolized the blue crush chicks and dreamed about the day when i would look as cool in a bikini, but i accepted long ago that yoga pants and sports bras might be more my style.

but adventure breeds adventure.

you submit to the mountains, and suddenly you hear the sea calling.

so i went.

if we wait for the volume to get louder, sometimes we miss the message and go deaf instead.

a month of attempting to become that ocean girl.

waking up early and walking down to the beach. the air was often cool in the morning, before the summer sun rose over the tree line and burnt through the clouds. the streets were quiet, which meant a less dusty stroll from the hilltop to the shore.

nose to tail, rail to rail, waxing up with intermittent coffee sips. then heading to the sea with a zinc nose and bikini clad body.

unsure of the ocean’s rhythm, i sat on some driftwood and watched the locals pick their waves. it takes time. to read the water. to feel the pulse. to understand the power.

after a month, i was just starting to sense the unspoken words she was saying.

shuffle through the shallow sand with board in hand. the water is warm. a big set rolls in and quickly reminds me, this is the ocean. full of salt. a mouth full of salt.

i often forget. i walk into a giant body of water and just assume it will taste like lake michigan. here it tastes like tears and sweat. it dries a thin layer of seasoning on your skin. it clears out your sinuses with every accidentally inhale and leaves your eyes softly burning.

will i ever learn to love that feeling?

paddle paddle paddle past the break. then i always need a rest. legs dangling straddled on either side of this floating extension of self. sting rays, fish, and a whole world living beneath you. each trying to remain unaware of the other.

for most surfers, satisfaction comes from catching the wave. but what about this moment? this special space where you are peacefully waiting to see what gift she will give you. looking out over the horizon tuning into her rhythm. the sun warming your skin. the salt drying on your lips. i could wait there all day.

but when you sense something good rolling in, it’s time to move on. paddle paddle paddle paddle and pop up. turning down the face and staying just ahead of the break. letting your legs inform the movements. splashing back into the waves with the biggest shit grin plastered across your face.

or maybe not.

paddle paddle paddle paddle and pop up. get slammed into the tumbling circle of angry h2o that has no care for your well-being. breath held and body avoiding injury. panicking to surface and find safety, if only for a split second.

her beauty only intensifying as you slowly swim back out for round two.

i will always be a lake girl, but the sea has left its mark. found its way into my soul. testing the limits of my fear. reminding me that i am powerless.

you don’t realize something is missing until finding it changes everything.

i have spent the past six weeks jet-setting around america trying to define who i am to the man i love. days jam-packed with people and places that felt crucial to understanding me.

it is weird to date someone for a year and never have them meet your friends and family. never have them see the town you call home. never have them know what your memories look like. especially for someone like me. a person whose everything is the people that surround her.

week in los angeles.
thanksgiving in chicagoland.
few days in grand rapids.
quick tour of ann arbor.
couple hours in detroit.
back to chicagoland.
adventures with mutual friends in san diego.
week in portland.
snowboarding vacation in aspen and steamboat springs.
overnight in boulder.
back to chicagoland for christmas part one (including bears and hawks games)
day trip to janesville.
back to chicagoland for christmas part two.
and new year’s with his family in honolulu.

yes, we’re tired. no, we didn’t get to see everyone. i missed nashville and west virgina and new york and some chicagoans. some best friends only got a quick meal. and some spaces only got a quick minute.

but i feel better. i feel immensely better. i feel even better than i thought i would.

my two worlds finally collided, and they still fit together. they seem to fit together even more. every face has a name. every story has its space.

when you love someone, you want so badly for them to be a part of it all. to know the awesomeness of your childhood home. to know the hilarity that is your family dinners. to know the love you feel for the people you (hypothetically) call besties.

and now you know.
and i love you more.

maybe more is the wrong word. but i just feel complete. a more complete reflection of myself, of the life i lived, the love that made me who i am.

excuse my outpouring of emotion, but that’s what’s going on today. and lots of it.

the six weeks leading up to the new year were filled with so many of my favorite faces. i am grateful for each and every one of them. for the amazing family that i’m proud to call mine. for the faux families who have adopted me into their lives. for the long distance friendships who made time for a coffee. for the endless amounts of free guest rooms, couches, and floors that continuously give me a home. who knew showing someone else around my world would make me appreciate it that much more.

enjoy your new year. do something epic. then write me a letter about it.

if you need me, i’ll be sleeping in a costa rican hammock for a couple of months to recover from 2014. come visit. i’ll return the favor and let you sleep on my couch…